


all is calm and all is bright

by Star_less



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas Caroling, Desperation, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, If You Squint - Freeform, Infantilism, IronDad & SpideySon, Irondad, Kid Peter Parker, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Omorashi, One Shot, Peter Parker Whump, Slice of Life, Sorry Not Sorry, Superfamily, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Wetting, and fluff, spideyson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21935998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: 'Calmness' and 'Brightness'. Two words that don't tend to go together on the night of your child's Christmas concert... and most certainly don't go together when your child has been filled up with a mug of hot chocolate and refused a toilet break a couple of seconds before going on stage to perform at said Christmas concert.“We Three Kings of Madison Square... selling hole-y underwear!” Peter bit his lip, quivering. A giggle bubbled up. Ned had taught him the rude version while they were learning the songs in class. It wasn’t all that funny really, but when he was sat in a big quiet chapel and his middle was so filled up that giggling was dangerous and he just wanted to go home and pee, it was—of course— the funniest song he had ever heard.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark
Comments: 7
Kudos: 38





	all is calm and all is bright

**Author's Note:**

> okay so remember when said merry christmas and made a fic, I lied. THIS is your present. merry Christmas to you!!! Merry Christmas Eve!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> If you like omorashi and pee then you will love this. If you don't mind Peter Parker acting juuuuuust a bit younger than usual then you will love this. If you don't you won't, and you get coal. Or you just find a fic you do like, of course!
> 
> also this is some sort of weird seventh grade AU? idk why I just decided that was a good idea. fifteen seems too grown up for christmas caroling and Peter wanted to be a bit younger this time so he's in seventh grade!

“Dad, but I don’t want to sing.” Peter whined, ducking out of his father’s way as Tony fought desperately to pull a Christmas themed knit sweater over his head.   
“Tough,” was his fathers gleeful response as he stood back and admired his handiwork, sighing in contentment.   
Tonight was the annual Midtown High Christmas Carol service. It was the first year that twelve year old Peter Parker would be taking part in the service, having finally moved on from performing the Nativity Story in the school hall. All of Peter’s friends were positively ecstatic at the change. It really was supposed to be quite exciting, after all, a mark of growing up... but Peter was quite scared. There was something comforting about dressing up as the dusty bottom end of a donkey or hiding in the background to whisper your lines. Nobody knew who you were, for a start, and nobody cared if you messed up. But the carol service...? The carol service involved singing, everybody at the front of the stage in stiff lines... and solos. The dreaded solo.   
Peter had been chosen to give A Dreaded Solo. Without any words to help, because ‘you should have practised enough’.  
“Give us a little wiggle, Peter!” Tony instructed with a smile; rolling his eyes, Peter complied and the bells on the front of his Christmas jumper (attached specifically to Rudolph’s antlers and neck) jingled with him. 

Tony beamed, cupping Peter’s cheek. “Sweetheart, you’re going to do fantastically. Are you nervous?”  
He knew Peter was, of course, judging by the spectacular pouting of his lip, but anything that got Peter to talk to him instead of whining or grunting was a win in his eyes. Very hesitantly his son nodded, and Tony gave a sympathetic smile. “You know all your words, hmmm? Silent night, holy night...”

“All is calm, all is bright...” Peter murmured. His voice quivered. 

Tony cupped both of his cheeks this time, bringing his forehead close for a kiss. “Wonderful. Dad’s going to be right there in the front watching, no need to be afraid,” He cooed. “And you know Papa would be there if he wasn’t working. I’m going to get it on video for him and he’s going to know just how good a singer you are.   
How about you and your old man have a hot chocolate before we go?” A stiff drink did wonders for his nerves, a stiff hot chocolate would likely do wonders for Peter’s nerves too.

“You’re not that old, Dad.” Peter giggled, but nodded enthusiastically. He loved having time when it was just him and Dad. Dad was usually always so busy with work and Papa’s cuddles—shhh, don’t tell—weren’t as warm and tight as Dad’s. He curled up into Dad and sipped at his hot chocolate, watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas on the television and wishing just the tiniest bit, that he could stay lost in this moment forever and never have to sing.   
At five forty five, when Peter had been slurping noisily into his empty cup for the last five minutes, Tony ruffled his hair. “...come on, the service starts in forty five minutes, we’d better get going. Can you do a quick pee for me, kiddo?”

At this request his filling bladder gave a nudge — just like it always did when Dad asked if he visit the toilet, because Dad was always right — and glumly he agreed, marching up the stairs. He wasn’t too happy with his father at the moment, even if he was being extra nice, because— well, because he didn’t want to sing, and Dad was making him. Standing in the bathroom he rocked on his heels, running the faucet on and off and on again. He wasn’t going to use the bathroom, even if he had the tickles, because that would make Dad right again, and he didn’t want him to be right. 

“Peter, are you finished? It’s time to go!” Tony called up the stairs. 

“Coming, Dad!” Peter called, flushing the toilet and leaving the room. 

Hmpf. That’d show him.  
~

“Ohhh, Peter, your jumper!” 

Peter was backstage now, fidgeting slightly on his feet. He had been pulled away from his father as soon as they got to school, whisked off to rehearse while Tony took his seat, and his belly had filled with big flapping butterflies of nerves. He sort of wished Dad was here, because he was sure Dad would make the butterflies slow a little bit — because right now the butterflies were flapping so hard they were hitting his bladder, waking up allllll of that hot chocolate, and he sort of wished he’d listened to Dad and used the toilet before getting here. Shifting his feet around, he jumped to find Ned suddenly standing next to him, squeezing Rudolph’s big red Pom-Pom nose on his jumper. “...hi, Ned,” he grinned, relieved, the butterflies wilting a bit now that he had a distraction. “It’s cool, isn’t it?”

Ned nodded. “Mom said I couldn’t have a jumper like that.” He pouted. “Your Dad is sooo cool.”

“Your jumper is cool too!” Peter supplied earnestly, leaning forward and giving himself a little squeeze. “A polar bear in sunglasses!” He giggled.

“It’s not Christmassy though, is it?” Ned grumbled. 

“It’s got a polar bear on it!” Peter shrugged, giggling. The giggles teased his filling bladder a little more, reminding him that he most certainly should have peed by now, and he reached down to give himself a squeeze, shivering.

“Class, it’s time to begin. Everybody to the front of the chapel and take your seats. Peter, Liz, I will take you to the front of the stage where you will sit with the rest of the soloists until it is your turn.” Mr. Harrington burst, urging Peter forward by the small of his back. 

Peter fidgeted under his grip, the butterflies flapping around in his belly even harder than they had done before. “Mr. Harrington,” he whispered, tugging the man’s sleeve, “Can I go to the toilet?”

“Peter, of course not!” Mr. Harrington said, and Peter’s heart sunk right down to his gut. It made him feel stupid for even bothering to ask. “You should have gone before now. You’ll have to wait.”

“Okay, Mr. Harrington.” Peter whispered, resigned to his fate. He suddenly felt very full indeed, and wasn’t sure if he wanted to pee or be sick, or a horrible mix of both.  
~

Peter sat on the hard-backed chair and fidgeted.

He fidgeted to the left. 

He fidgeted to the right.

He fidgeted and tapped his feet. Liz was sat next to him, hands folded in her lap.   
The youngest class of all was singing first and she sort of looked as if she wanted to stick her fingers into her ears instead. “Are you okay, Peter?” She whispered kindly (although didn’t quite mean it. His leg was jiggling so much it was jiggling her chair.)

“Huh? Oh... yeah.” Peter whispered, freezing in place as a sheepish blush leaked over his cheeks. Caught!  
“...these chairs make my bum hurt.” He giggled lightly; Liz giggled too.  
~

“After that wonderful opening, it is time for our lovely seventh graders to sing. Parents, feel free to join in, there is a lyric sheet in front of you, and mince pies are. . .”

Peter wasn’t listening; all he knew was that it was time to sing. Liz sang first, then they had a couple of whole-class songs, and then came The Dreaded Solo. Standing up, he folded his hands in front of him—so— so it didn’t look suspicious, right? If- if he gave himself a sneaky little grab, maybe no one would notice...?  
Looking across the crowd of parents, fear rose in his throat. Tony caught his eye, though, and the fear dribbled away slightly. Dad was there like he said he would be! And he was filming for Papa!  
‘Hi, Dad!’ he whispered shyly, waving. 

Tony smiled from his position in front row and waved, too. ‘You’re gonna do great, kiddo.’ He mouthed back.

Peter so hoped Dad was right. He usually was, after all, but... but his bladder was getting fuller and the tickles more intense and he had to stand up for at least the next hour...   
Hanging his head as Liz sang along to Hark the Herald Angels Sing he pressed his hands a little tighter into his midsection and—squirming, of course— quietly started to sing along with her and the rest of his class.

They started off with Joy to the World, which Peter thought certainly wasn’t very joyful at all. Compared to Frosty the Snowman, it was really rather boring. He fidgeted all the way through it, and tugged at his jeans. Not because he had to pee and definitely not because of all the tickling going on in his bladder, oh no. It was because— because he was bored, and— and his jeans were tight and itchy on his legs. Yes, that was it.  
After Joy to the World, they moved on to Deck the Halls, which, well, Peter thought didn’t really make much sense. How do you deck a hall, anyway?   
All of Peter’s bored fidgeting wasn’t working so well on the tickles in his bladder now. In fact, it only seemed to be making them feel a bit worse. Scrunching up his face (just at the line where they were talking about draining barrels and flowing bowls, of course) Peter bent at the waist a little bit, free hand rubbing at the tops of his thighs and letting out a secret little whimper to himself. Not because he had to pee, though, just because he was cold. He straightened himself out to join in with the last big burst of ‘fa la la la la la la la la’s’, voice shaking. Every now and then a really hard push in his midsection would pull all of the words from his mouth and he had to bend a little more at the waist.…It really was cold in the chapel though, and that in itself was doing Peter no favours. An icy sort of chill would blow all the way down each arm and up each leg and right deep down to his full, warm bladder and squeeze. If he marched on the spot a little it pushed all the coldness away but— but his bladder was still so full and so heavy and oh… maybe he really should have listened to Dad and gone to the toilet when he asked.   
…ah, but it wasn’t his fault. Stupid Mr. Harrington. Mr. Harrington could have let him have a quick pee before going on stage, couldn’t he? That was mean. Dad wasn’t going to be very happy when he found out. Idly, Peter looked around the stage. Maybe he could… could sneak off…? There were lots of children here, and twice as many parents. Nobody would notice if he just ducked away and had a really quick pee, would they…? No… he could dart to the toilet and be all finished in a matter of minutes…Peter looked around again, and his mouth soured at the thought. No, of course people would see you, he mentally slapped himself. He was stood right at the front, after all, and Dad was right there. Dad was one of those annoying parents who could see everything ever, so he would definitely know. Shaking the thoughts out of his head Peter tried not to think of how good it would feel to use the toilet, or how big a pee he would do, or how nice and light and empty he would feel afterwards instead of all hot-cold…  
He came back to himself when there was a big fat drop on the verge of leaking free and drew in a big shocked breath, holding himself in tight. 

Until he had an elbow to the side. It wasn’t harsh, but it was as big a shock as any, and he blew out the held in breath in fear, trying not to pay attention to the big fat drop that rolled into his underwear at the same time. “What?!” He hissed anxiously, whimpering, hands coming near his crotch.

“…Peter, you’re meant to sing!”

Liz. Peter huffed, rubbing his midsection. 

Liz narrowed her eyes, and then wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t hit you _there_.”

Peter flushed in embarrassment and turned away, fidgeting again, and curled in on himself. Shakily, after a handful of moments, he draw himself back into song - but not before making sure he wouldn’t leak or drip or do anything embarrassing.

“Jarvis, can you give me Peter’s vitals please?” Tony frowned, whispering into his watch. “Steve,” he narrated, “I thought Peter was just nervous or bored, but...” he zoomed in on Peter’s fidgeting; well, it was more than that now, he had his knees pressed in and he looked to be shaking too. “That doesn’t look like a bored fidget to me...”

“...I’m afraid you’re right, sir.” Jarvis informed. “Peter’s bladder is currently a comfortable 68% full. Not dangerous territory, but he will definitely be feeling it and has already lost a little. You have about a 12% sweet spot before getting him to a toilet will become urgent.” 

Tony rubbed his temples, groaning, voice thick in realisation. “...he has to pee.”

Peter trembled as they began We Three Kings.   
Ned was stood behind him. Above the sound of the organ he was giggling to himself, leaning forward to whisper in Peter’s ear as the rest of their class began to sing. “We Three Kings of Madison Square... selling hole-y underwear!”  
Peter bit his lip, quivering. A giggle bubbled up. Ned had taught him the rude version while they were learning the songs in class. It wasn’t all that funny really, but when he was sat in a big quiet chapel and his middle was so filled up that giggling was dangerous and he just wanted to go home and pee, it was—of course— the funniest song he had ever heard. “So fantastic, no elastic, ninety nine cents a pair.” He trilled in return, a little laugh bursting free - and once he had started, he couldn’t stop. Covering his mouth, Peter collapsed into secret, sneaky giggles, shoulders shaking. Nothing could stop him - not the sharp elbows he was getting from Liz or the stern eyes he was getting from Mr. Harrington — nothing... nothing except the stern slap he got from his bladder instead when he dared to laugh just a little bit too long. Suddenly, he felt like he had to pee really badly - like, ‘go to the toilet soon’ badly, bladder beginning to pulse in urgency - so hard and so fast and so hot that he had to clamp his legs together and stand all stiff and tall like a soldier. His laugh halted, he took in a sharp shocked breath, and froze. His feet bunched in his shoes and he had to breathe all slow and tight. Big deep whooping breaths pulled and pinched and he dripped and dribbled.   
Oh no... oh no, oh no, oh no...

“I wonder what he thinks is so funny. Oh, look at his face,” Tony whispered to the camera as he filmed. Peter was pulling one hell of an impressive pee face, and Tony wasn’t even sure Peter knew he was doing it. As Peter’s father, though, Tony knew what that little scrunched up nose and crease in his forehead meant in an instant. 

Above him, the organ boomed in again - indicating the first few bars of Silent Night. 

Peter’s solo.  
~

Stepping up to the microphone, Peter looked out over the crowd of parents and swallowed thickly. Somehow, it felt even colder in the chapel than it had before, so much so that a shiver went zooming all the way along Peter’s arms and right down his spine and right into where his bladder was, poking and prodding and teasing and telling Peter he really should have been peeing right now. As the organ began and the bar where Peter was supposed to begin singing got closer and closer a hush fell across the chapel. No parent spoke, no classmate giggled. Every eye in the room was on him, but worse than that they could see how much he was shaking and this made him shake even more. His legs were still jammed in tight—sure that if he unclenched them even for a second he was going to have an accident!—but standing still there was all this pressure squeezing him in tight; the pressure low in his belly right through to his private parts, the pressure of everybody’s eyes on him.   
Shifting on his feet sneakily, dancing like he had done so often tonight... the bells on his jumper tinkled louder than ever, a loud alarm indicating to the room exactly what he was doing. He froze, again... or tried to, before he had to start bending his knees.

Tony in the front row mimed, ‘take a deep breath!’ even if Peter’s pee dancing was growing increasingly insistent and even if Jarvis was growing worried in his ear telling him to discount the earlier readings because Peter’s cortisol levels were rising and this was increasing the pressure in his bladder. As much as it killed him to sit there and watch, there was nothing much else he could do — and Peter’s solo was the final song. Just a couple of minutes more, and everything was going to be okay...  
Looking down at the lyric sheet, he mouthed the first line with his son, just in case Peter’s need to pee had wiped the words from his mind.

Catching his father’s eye, Peter let out a slow sigh and cleared his throat as he straightened out; clammy hands clasped hard to his quivery thighs. Slowly and carefully—as though it took some effort—he began to sing.   
“Silent night, holy night... all is calm, all is bright...”

Peter’s voice trembled as he sang; it took all of his effort to stand still so he was only just about focusing on singing in his bestest and loudest voice. To say his bladder was unhappy at this development was a big understatement. For one, he had gotten so used to giving himself sneaky squeezes as the service unfolded that, now they were torn away from him, the pounding was a constant thrum-ba-bum-ba-thrum that he couldn’t soothe. Not just that, but he was somehow hyper aware of everybody’s eyes on him, judging him, and his heart was thumping in his chest in time with his bladder — if not even harder.   
Whimpering a little, he stepped all over his toes, fingers gripping tighter and tighter to his jeans as it continued — **poundpoundpoundpound** — _ohhhh wow he had to pee so badly, why didn’t he listen to Dad earlier on? Why did Dad have to give him such a big mug of hot chocolate? And why... why was it so quiet...?_  
— it was at that point that Peter realised he had stopped singing. He trembled and pressed his legs tighter together, looking around. Mr. Harrington was at the front of the audience and he nodded in sympathy, _it’s okay, try again._  
Frozen to the spot, Peter looked at the audience. A lump rose in his throat and his bladder pounded so hard it made his belly hurt— really hurt—hurt enough to let a spurt go trickling down the inner part of his left leg and at this he let out a little sob, hands shamelessly buried into his crotch. No! No, he couldn’t pee here, not— not in front of everybody! “No!” He pleaded himself uselessly, voice shaking.  
He jumped up and down on the spot trying to keep his pee in - but that only jolted his bladder some more and forced the spurts to get heavier and longer. Finally Peter had to admit defeat, head bowed, as a hot gush of pee streamed past his fingers and splattered onto the floor. The gush turned into a full, hard, splattering stream in only a matter of seconds not just out of desperation but through Peter’s utter fear.  
It ran through his jeans, it dribbled down his legs, it was sopped up by his socks and made big, ugly puddles in his shoes that squelched and left little trailing footprints if he moved.

A murmur of concern swept out over the crowd. Heads turned, lips pursed.  
Peter sobbed, looking out into the crowd, arms wrapped around himself to self soothe. “...Daddy!” He pleaded desperately, as if Tony was magical and could stop him from peeing himself altogether - or stop everybody from seeing the big mess he was making. 

Tony fought through the murmuring crowd, standing stage side, arms outstretched. “Daddy’s here.”  
~

“Papa, everybody saw!” Peter whimpered. He was sat in the back of the Audi, on a towel so he wouldn’t get pee on the leather, and Dad was driving home. Papa was on FaceTime. He was still at work.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure nobody minds.” Steve crooned soothingly, brows knitted together in worry. “Daddy’s going to sort it. Anybody who tries to put that footage online will get in big, big trouble.”He knew that for a fact; while Peter was getting cleaned up Tony had been ranting his ears off about it - all of it - from Peter’s squirming all evening to finding out his teacher never let him go to the stress of making sure nobody ever uploaded that footage anywhere… to Peter calling him ‘Daddy’ for the first time in years.

Sniffling, Peter nodded and rubbed his eyes. “Dad recorded it for you so you can see what a good singer I am.” He mumbled. Steve just barely managed to decipher what he was saying - it blurred together in a scene of tired mumbles. 

“I’m going to watch it as soon as I get home, doll. Maybe we can cuddle up and watch it together?” He cooed. 

Peter nodded, sliding low in his seat. “Not the bit where I pee myself.” He mumbled. A blush flickered onto his cheeks at the thought. He hoped Daddy didn’t capture that bit.

Steve tutted in sympathy and nodded his head. “Not that bit. But what does this tell you?” He admonished gently. “Listen to Daddy when he tells you to use the toilet. He knows best.”

(‘Very true!’ Tony nodded.)

Peter whined softly and nodded, defeated. “Can we watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas before bed?” He had missed it because of the stupid carol service.

Steve smiled. “I’d like that very much, love.”

“I would too, hon.” chipped in Tony. “Early bedtime, though, or Santa won’t come.” He teased. 

Distantly, from the phone, Steve laughed. “I think Peter agrees.”

...Peter had fallen asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh the christmas concert. the school christmas carol service/christmas play always fills me with festivity/nostalgia!!!   
> there was always that one kid who pissed themselves, or the kid who fell off of the stage and hit their head and woke up crying for his mummy, or the kid who giggled all the way through her carols then vomited onstage and woke up the next day with chicken pox...... that last one was me. Is it just my school full of these weirdos?
> 
> anyway yeah I thought it'd be great to have Peter put through the hell of a year seven carol service and this is the result. sorry I rushed it but I love it anyway. MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVELIES I LOVE YOU ALL unless you don't give me comments/kudos in which case get in the bin.
> 
> I'm joking mwah xxxxxxxx


End file.
